Slipping her thin bathrobe onto the cool porcelain tile, Morgan Wilson hesitantly placed the tip of her toe onto the surface of the foam. Sighing in relief she slipped into the bathtub, pleased that the water passed her test.

Submerging herself deeper she allowed the bubbles to play against her lips. She turned, balancing on her elbows. Arching her back, she clenched her fists at the buzz that wracked her body. A lazy smile pulled at her mouth. Everyone should pamper themselves once in a-

Before she could finish her train of thought, a firm hand gripped the back of her neck, pushing her deep beneath the tepid water. She screamed, bitter suds flowing into her mouth. Coughing, she tried to force the harsh cleanser out of her system.

I'm going to die.

A bare thought flit through her head. Suddenly she let her body go limp, straining to stay calm. To her astonishment, she immediately received the desired effect.

The attacker released her, clapping his hands together in finality.

"Whelp, that was fast," he placed his hands on his hips, "Damn I'm hungry. Hey, babe, you know where I can find some Mexican- shit. I killed her. Funny how you forget that sort of thing."

She struggled to keep her head below the surface, waiting for the telltale sign of his departure. A door slam- anything! She just had to get air back into her lungs and she had to do it fast.

He sighed dramatically, "I suppose I'll just have to-"

Unable to hold it any longer she burst up, taking in an enormous breath. Black dots swam in front of her eyes, only allowing glimpses of the assailant. He was covered head to toe in red and black spandex, only interrupted by the various weapons coating his body.

"Hey," he pointed an accusing finger, "Didn't I kill you?"

She blinked at him, still taking heaving breaths, trying to restore her lungs back to peak. He didn't speak, just staring at her. She took in the slight incline of his head, following his vision until-

Realization hit her, and with a gasp, she threw her hands across her breasts. She was completely naked.

"Move!" she demanded. Wrapping herself in the nearest towel, she tried to push past him.

"No," he frowned, crossing his arms.

"Then go to my room and grab me some clothes!" she pointed out the door, pulling the towel a bit tighter.

"Fine!" he put his hands up in mock surrender, "Whatever!"

He disappeared for a second, returning before she had time to even think about escape. Tossing her an extremely low cut pink top and skinny jean, he turned respectfully.

Of course.

She began wrestling into the tight pants.

"Hey, um, I have a question," he twiddled his thumbs, calling over his shoulder, "Are you in shock? Cause you're not really screaming or anything. Well- you were yelling at me- but that was different."

"Why do you want to kill me?" she asked instead, zipping her pants.

"I don't want to kill you. I got paid to kill you," he clarified, nodding approvingly as she turned around.

"By who?" she scoffed.

"You know Denise Pollard? Well yeah. And boy," he chuckled, "She is paying a-lot . That skank hates the air you breathe. It's insane!"

"What? I don't know a- who the hell is Denise Pollard?" she shook her head, squinting up at him.

"Wait," he held up a hand, "What's your name?"

"Morgan Wilson. But what does that have anything to do with-?"

"She's fucking your boyfriend," he coughed into his hand, turning around

"WHAT?" she gasped, "I don't even know- she hired a guy to kill me? She's insane!"

"Not just any guy," he looked dramatically into the distance, "DEADPOOL!" he struck a pose, flexing his muscles.

"I'm sorry- dead… pool? That doesn't even make sense. How would you kill a swimming-"

"ANYWAY!" he interjected, "This is kinda awkward, but I'm getting paid a lot of money to unalive you."

"Unalive?"

"People tend to get all offended when I say 'kill'."

"Understandable."

"Okay, so all this money- I sorta need it. And the only way to get that is for me to unalive you. You might not like that though- so I had a thought."

"You?"

"Yes, me. So I was thinking that you'd get back in the bathtub- you'd have to take your clothes off of course- and then I'd take a picture or something of you all dead looking. Capiche?" he raised an eyebrow.

"No freaking way!" she scowled at him, "You'll just drown me as soon as I step in the water."

"Whaaaat? How dare you even assume that I would- yeah that was basically the plan," he shrugged.

"Tell me the truth," she glared up at him, "Is there any way I'm getting out of this-"

"YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!" he screamed, raising his head to the heavens.

"Really?"

"Mmhmm."

"Well, I guess I don't have a choice," he sighed. Casually reaching into one of his many pouches, he cocked a revolver at her head.

"Has any one told you that you are a hu-"

"That I have a huge dick? Yes, but your opinion is appreciated," he grinned, clicking off the safety.

Wait.

Yeah, hold up.

"What?" Deadpool frowned irritably, speaking apparently to no one.

You could get more than two mil for this job.

Yeah, two mil is sad.

"So what do you think I should do? Hm?" he spoke again to no one in particular.

Make it look like you offed the chick, get paid, and then do it again! Twice the cash!

"That makes absolutely no sense."

He seldom does. Listen, don't kill her. Pretend you did. Receive money. Reveal she is alive. Actually kill her for even more money. Get it? Then maybe kill the Denise chick. I didn't like her.

"Yeah, more money is good," he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Excuse me, who are you talking to?" she folded her arms over my chest, looking at him with concern.

"Your mom. I've made a decision. You can go."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Get out."

Giving him a questioning look, she turned to leave. As soon as he was positive her guard was down, he slipped forward, whacking the gun of his automatic against the back of her skull. She instantly crumpled, sinking to the ground.

"Are you faking it this time? NO? DIDN'T THINK SO!" he shouted, pulling her into his arms, "Now I don't have time to find a Mexican place. God damn," he shook his head in dismay, "For your own good, I hope you can cook."

Who is he talking to?

Himself.

If he was talking to himself he'd be talking to us.

True, true. Who is he talking to?

"SHAPPUP!" Deadpool placed a hand on his head.

Ooh, testy.

Gritting his teeth, he repositioned the girl. For all this, he deserved at least four million, he reasoned.

So, yeah. Bad ending, I know, but I couldn't think of anything. When the yext goes italic or bold out of context, it means he's talking to the voices in his head. If you've ever read Deadpool you know that. UNTIL NEXT TIME DEAR FRIENDS!

Z-Quelly